Stranded
by Madame Tortilla
Summary: After a terrible accident with Hex, Fiona Mitchell gets stranded in Ankh-Morpork, seemingly without a chance of returning to her own world. Now, she has to adjust to the Discworld and its curious inhabitants. She is glad to have Rincewind helping her, though. Even if grudgingly at the beginning. RincewindxOC
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I am _not_ Terry Pratchett, which means that there is _no chance_ I could ever _own_ Disworld. Also, no profit is being made out of this. All you will read is being made for pure amusement.

**

* * *

**

**Prologue**

* * *

It was a warm day in Ankh-Morpork. The sun was shining, the birds were... well, anything but singing. Though some of them made funny noises while choking on the river, Nobby Nobbs thought. Everything seemed fine.

Nobby turned to Captain Carrot, who was standing next to him and examining a small vessel harboured at the docks. Usually Nobby patrolled the streets with Fred Colon, but since the latter had caught a fever, he had to stay with Carrot. "I'm goin' to the Drum. You comin'?"

The tall, ginger haired man known as Carrot Ironfoundersson, or just Carrot, waved a finger at him, disapprovingly. "Remember that we are on duty, corporal." he said. "Besides, we should go back to the Watchhouse. It's getting late."

"It's not even noon!"

"Even so," Carrot shrugged. "I promised Angua... never mind." He eyed Nobby's grin and counted six yellow teeth. He blushed. "Let's go."

"Alright."

Corporal Nobby Nobbs and Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson headed back to the Watch at a slow pace. What better way to enjoy a beautiful day in Ankh-Morpork , Nobby thought, than smoking a Klatchian cigarette (1) and impressing beautiful women who sell cockles and mussels and other forms of edible sea life from a barrow on their way to the Watchhouse? (2)

"Captain!"

"Corporal!"

"Millennium Hand and Shrimp!"

The watchmen turned around. Several people were running and screaming, though most of them were a) running towards and b) screaming at them for some unknown reason.

"What happened?" asked Carrot, concerned.

"It's gone!" a brown-clad man shrieked. "Gone!"

"What's gone? Your fish?" Nobby snarled. "Serves you bloody right! You shouldn't've threw a perch at -"

The man started jumping. "Not the fish!"

"Calm down, sir, and tell us what happened. What's gone?" Carrot asked, gesturing for the berserk crowd to settle down.

"My wife's boss's friend's neighbour's house! Near the University! It just went SSSSSHHHH and then PUF!"

Carrot stared at the man, flabbergasted. "A house?"

"A whole damn house?" Nobby asked.

"Yes!"

"Must've been those bloody wizards again!"

"Bloody lunatics!"

The brown-clad man started jumping again, this time like a broken pogo stick, as the crowd cornered the watchmen against a brick wall.

Captain Carrot tried to calm down the throng while Corporal Nobbs, in a rather slick manner, eyed the nearest pockets and belongings. It wasn't such a nice day after all, Nobby thought. Perhaps if he could reach for that golden watch it'd turn into a better one though...

"We must warn the Commander." Carrot said.

"Bugger me."

* * *

**(1)** Nobby had "found" some the previous night.

**(2)** After all the things he had been thrown, Nobby was still keen on having a relationship with a certain "Hammerhead".

* * *

_A/N: _

_Merry Christmas everyone! *hugs*_

_Special thanks to Virtuella for Beta-ing my fic :D You're amazing._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully was inside his office, cleaning a crossbow, while glancing at the closed door in front of him every now and then. He ought to have some peace and quiet for a while, whilst the faculty slept.

'_Ate_,' he thought, eyeing his watch. It was time for them to eat their... third meal, he reasoned.

Suddenly, someone knocked violently at his door. Ridcully sighed. What did he have do to have a decent quiet hour?

"Come in!" he shouted.

The door burst open and revealed a great wizard, one so fat that he could sit on two chairs at the same time. This had earned him the dubious distinction of the nickname "Two Chairs" from Ridcully.

"Archchancellor!" the Dean panted, holding on to the knob. His face would later turn to an ugly blotchy red from running, at a very slow pace, from the High Energy Magic Building down to Ridcully's office. "You must come quickly!"

"What happened, man?" Ridcully asked, rising from his seat.

"Stibbons told the Senior Wrangler who told Rincewind who told the Chair who told the Bursar to tell you that Hex has opened... a _stitch_ in the space-time continuum!"

Ridcully frowned. "A rift, you mean?"

"Maybe."

"I fail to see where you fit in there, Dean."

"I eavesdropped." He shrugged.

Ridcully seemed to consider this. It seemed a fairly good explanation. Moreover, if he knew the Dean right, the man wouldn't have moved a muscle if that rift business wasn't important, and even that _had _to be of maximum importance.

"Stibbons, you say?" the great wizard nodded. "This had better be good."

And so, both wizards strode up to the High Energy Magic Building, Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully faster than the Dean, who was going as fast as a snail. Meanwhile, on the other side of the twin-city, clerk Drumknott had just handed the Patrician, Lord Vetinari, a worrying report concerning a house which had mysteriously disappeared minutes before, along with a small note.

The Patrician started reading. A few minutes that seemed long hours passed while nature took its course and the citizens gathered in Phedre Road, near the furniture shop 'Dratley and Sons'. Thieves and Cut Me Own Throat Dibbler could already be seen lurking through the throng.

"Drumknott," the Patrician called, a deep frown wrinkling his features. "We leave in two minutes."

"The clerk glanced upwards from filling. "Where to, sir?"

"Unseen University."

"Very well, sir." The clerk left the Oblong Office without a sound. Lord Vetinari rose from his seat and started pacing back and forth through his office. He was concerned.

* * *

Fiona Mitchell huffed. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, then it had to be chick flicks. And cabbages, too. She switched the channels to find a more suitable movie to watch on a Friday night. Of course, she could always opt for the usual scary movie marathon, but that night she wanted to do something different, something that didn't require sitting her bottom on the sofa for two and a half hours in the same tedious routine. She could read, finish commissions or go for a walk through the park. All those options sounded great, but a) most of her books were so old that they smelled like dust and the rest were still in boxes, b) the commissions would take her all night and c) getting dressed meant having to spend too much _valuable_ energy she needed to sleep. Also, she was aware of making up silly excuses. It was, she would say, one of her best traits. Some would disagree and say it was one of her worst, but she digressed.

Fiona glanced at her grandfather-clock. It had been part of her inheritance, along with the now three month's diseased cat, a box of matches and the house. _The house,_ she thought. It wasn't exactly what Fiona would call cosy, but it was her home now.

A small smile curved her lips. She missed her grandparents and their constant babbling about the Second World War ("Bloody lunatics, they were." Grandpa Thomas used to say), the rising prices of gasoline and the trouble with pigeons, though she did _not _miss her grandmother throwing them small rocks with a fish spear. Most people would say they were funny folk. Fiona told them they _might _be part of the common folk, but certainly _weren't _funny. This earned her a couple of awkward smiles and, eventually, a free apple.

However, inheriting the house had been a blessing. It gave her a place to stay, and she liked Punnetts Town, though sometimes the big city seemed too far away for her taste.

She leaned back on the sofa and stared at the remote. She switched to FOX.

* * *

Ponder Stibbons was arguing intensely with Adrian Turnipseed. This was a most disturbing situation for the rest of the faculty, because, by undisputed opinion, they thought the former required some previous deep study about discussions and, at least, a week notice. Make it two weeks. They just couldn't bear the sight of the usually calm wizard barking like an angry dog, without minding to notice his glasses were on the verge of falling off his nose.

A tall, auburn-haired man with the word 'Wizzard' written in sequins on his hat, whispered to the fat man at his left:

"Shouldn't we, you know." He glanced at Stibbons. "Tell him to stop acting up with Turnipseed?"

The Senior Wrangler stared at Rincewind. "Bugger me," he said. "What if the man loses his mind and starts biting people's left ears?"

"I agree!" exclaimed the Chair of Indefinite Studies. "We should let the Archchancellor deal with this!"

"But -"

"What if he starts _singing_?"

"Why'd he start singing, Chair?"

"Dunno, maybe he'd -"

"Flies catch to ducks use people of sort what?"

"Has _anyone_ given the Bursar his Dried Frog Pills today?"

"How should _I_ know? The Dean -"

"Oh yes, blame the fat man for your -"

"_Look_ who's talking!"

"What's going on here?" The door opened with a loud burst and both Mustrum Ridcully and the Dean entered the room. "And why's Stibbons acting like a lunatic?"

"Archchancellor! " the Senior Wrangler exclaimed. "This is most urgent!"

"It's Roundworld." the Chair hurried to say.

"What, again?"

"Yes!"

Ridcully rolled his eyes and proceeded towards Stibbons, ignoring the discussion that seemed to have arisen between the faculty members. Stibbons, he thought, was about to cross the line between an incomprehensible sort of person and a deranged madman.

"STIBBONS!" he shouted. "What the bloody hell happened?"

A beardless, bespectacled wizard with jet black hair jumped. Fortunately, he caught his spectacles just in time before they hit the floor.

"Sir," Ponder Stibbons replied, nervously. "A couple of minutes ago, after I warned that Hex wasn't feeling well, someone messed with the circuits causing an accident in the -"

"_Stibbons_..."

"...leading to a explosion in the -"

"Yes, yes, yes. On with it." Ridcully demanded.

"It created a rift!" Ponder cried. "Something awful is coming this way!"

This was a matter of perspective, Ridcully reasoned. _'Something'_ meant a large number of things, and since this was Roundworld they were dealing with, none of those things would be immediately lethal. At least, during the first five minutes. (1)

"Pray tell, what sort of _thing_?" he asked.

"Anything, sir." He gulped. "It can be... anything."

Minutes of strange silence passed. Minutes, in which a lot of things happened in both universes, most of them irrelevant to the plot, though the most important one had to do with the fact that Fiona had fallen asleep on her sofa. Later, she would wake up with a neck ache.

"Oh!"

The faculty turned to Adrian Turnipseed, who was the source of the moan.

"I've found something!"

Stibbons rushed to him, and, after minutes of another fervent argument, they seemed to reach a conclusion. The faculty gathered that, from the looks on their faces, it had to be something fairly good, or otherwise Stibbons wouldn't be jumping in joy. Or the Bursar wouldn't be trying to hug the Archchancellor's boot, but that was due to inexplicable reasons in his mind. It involved, however, a turnip.

"According to this," Stibbons showed them some papers filled with calculus, "there was a very quiet energy blast a few moments before Rincewind came to warn me about my socks, but that blast hit something or someone near the University and whatever got hit has been transferred to Roundworld." Ponder paused for breath and, for his sake, a decent pause.

Rincewind threw his hands in the air. "I know we already established it's Roundworld we're talking about, but are you _quite certain_ that's it's _indeed_ Roundworld we're talking about?"

"Yes."

"How? Why?"

"We calculated the speed and distance of -"

"Alright, alright," Rincewind consented. "What _will_ we do now?"

"Wait 'n see, of course," said the Dean, who, together with the Chair, was trying to remove the Bursar from the windowsill. "Then throw fireballs at the intruders! Except you, Rincewind," he glanced at the failed wizard. "You're magically hopeless."

"Thanks a lot," Rincewind grunted.

Turnipseed held his notes and quill tightly against his chest, as if they were his first born son, or possibly shandy. "If something goes up, something else has to go down," he muttered.

Ponder turned his head with as much elegance as a broken Jack-in-a-box. "I'm sorry, what -"

SSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH

"DUCK!"

"What duck?"

A blast of blue light came from a small hole that appeared, out of nowhere, right above Hex and destroyed the opposite stone wall, along with several journal and newspaper entries and hit a seemingly vacant terrain. Of course no one in the High Energy Magic Building saw much of it, for they were more worried about hiding from the homicidal light and keeping the Bursar from running towards the hole. It has been shown before that wizards are spineless cowards, so it is rather hard to be surprised.

After a few coughing fits from the dust and the remaining blue-ish smoke from the beam, the wizards rushed to the destroyed wall, panting and eyeing the room suspiciously.

Ridcully narrowed his eyes and stared at the landscape. Ankh-Morpork was just like... Ankh-Morpork. Nothing had changed. Well, everything was the same expect from the massive throng on the other side of the river, louder screams than usual and a slight garlic smell in the air. Dibbler, he reasoned, must be behind the smell.

"Where is it?"

"What?" asked the Dean.

"The blasted light and the thing it brought!"

"Doggoned if I know."

Senior Wrangler peeked over the Dean's shoulder. "Where's it?"

"Over there!" said the Chair.

"No, Chair, that's _a tree_."

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it is!"

"If that's not a tree, then I'm a -"

"_Good morning, gentlemen_."

The faculty turned around at the sound of such a cold, silky voice. It was, however, so authoritative that they could not help but to think of obeying its every order. They froze in surprise at the sight of the city's Patrician and actual Tyrant, Lord Havelock Vetinari.

"I think we have a _problem_."

* * *

(1) Rincewind would slap the Archchancellor if he said such a ludicrous thing.

* * *

_A/N: _

_First of all, I'd like to thank my amazing Beta Reader, **Virtuella**, for her amazing work. :=) She does the best corrections!_

_Secondly, all of you should know that this fic wouldn't have seen the light of day if it wasn't for the fabulous **Ilinga** (A.K.A. Bindi from DA), who inspired me during our conversations. If there is someone who should be praised, then it's **her**._

_This fic is entirely dedicated to Virtuella and Ilinga :)_

_Happy new year, everyone :D_


	3. Chapter 2

****

Chapter 2

* * *

Phedre Road, a place for the industry of Ankh-Morpork. The salesmen of pestilent Morpork knew they would find the real shops there: the sort of shops with a show-case and a wood slab over the door; it was the sort of place where the high-class of Ankh-Morpork did their shopping. Although not the most important, the shops were certainly the cleanest.

In other words, it was a den of pettiness.

At that moment, however, the citizens of the twin city were gathering in a fulminating confusion throughout the street, in such a way the members of the Watch couldn't help but to curse the gods through clenched teeth, while trying, with fair success, to keep the throng away from a certain area that had been named "_The Place_".

Let us examine the underlying events on this poor creative title: on that sunny morning, the maid working above _Dratley and Sons_, when pouring the usual suspicious looking water on the butcher's daughter's head (1), was confronted with a unique sight.

With what could be considered a failed attempt at the metaphor _moving faster than lightening_, the maid descended the stairs and traversed the streets until she found someone whose ability to gossip was faster than a hamster's heartbeat in an exercise wheel, and in less than half an hour most of Ankh-Morpork knew something had happened in Phedre Road.

Versions would differ, of course, but they all had something in common: one of the residences had been hit by a beam of light and vanished. Also, people _knew_ the wizards were involved in this, somehow. Unless it was a god, but the people of Ankh-Mopork knew better than to blame any mystical entities, so they settled for the wizards.

When the rumour reached the Watchhouse, Commander Samuel Vimes was half way through a clacks from the Patrician, requesting a group of men to prevent any _unpleasantness _until his arrival. _The matter is of utmost importance_, Vimes read. He snorted and sent for Carrot.

* * *

Fiona opened her eyes, slowly. After getting used to her surroundings, she noticed the closed curtains let through strong sunrays, which meant it would be a fairly nice day. Or at least sunny, because, in the end, you could never trust people who claimed the previous day that '_it's going to be the worst rainy week of the century, if you don't count that one last October and most of April, right, Ted?'_ and then one found rain would be a miracle compared to the heat overflowing the country.

There was a strange smell in the air, she acknowledged, reasoning it must belong to Mr Fisher, whose smell of fish and a number of unknown substances travelled faster than an airplane and could enter inside every house in the vicinity.

Fiona sat and caressed her aching neck. Sleeping on the sofa wasn't a good idea. Next time, she had to think twice before doing something so silly, for the pain she felt through her body, and especially her neck, was disturbing. Also, she felt very drowsy, almost as if she hadn't slept much.

She thought about taking a shower.

* * *

"Well, Mr Stibbons?"

"I'm on it, sir."

Lord Vetinari examined the disarray around him. Frightened students ran after flying notes here and there while others helped Ponder Stibbons figure out a close radius distance of where the... thing might've appeared. The faculty stood in a corner, behind the Patrician and his clerk.

"_Ah-ha!_"

Ponder strode over to the Patrician. "Sir," he said, excited. "We are fairly certain that it is in the same area where the...house disappeared." He glanced at his notes. "Actually we are sure it is exactly in the same place."

Vetinari considered this. "Very well," he said and turned to the Faculty. He caught sight of Mustrum Ridcully who, with combined support from the Dean, tried to prevent the Bursar from committing suicide. The rest of the wizards eyed him anxiously. "We may require more than simple persuasion in this matter, who knows what creature lurks on the site at this very moment?"

Rincewind fidgeted with his fingers "A human, sir? Or maybe a dog?"

Vetinari ignored him. "I agree with the Archchancellor. Sending someone over to the site would be an excellent choice. "

Ridcully frowned in confusion. "What? Did I say that?"

"Do you think," -Vetinari raised an eyebrow- "that sending off Rincewind to the site would be a good choice?"

Rincewind opened his mouth to protest. He closed his mouth.

"What? Oh, yes. Nice fellow, he is. Knows Roundworld better than anyone."

"Then I agree with you."

Ridcully shifted uncomfortably.

"Hum, Stibbons, give Rincewind the coordinates and-"

Vetinari raised a pale, blue veined hand. "It will not be necessary. Rincewind was offered a trip in my carriage to the place of the... event."

Rincewind gulped. "I was?"

"Yes."

He gulped again and glanced at the clerk. He wondered if the day could get any worse.

"When do we leave?" he asked, faintly.

"Right now. We are already wasting precious time as it is; there is no need for more delays. Mr Stibbons?"

Ponder jumped. "Yes, sir?"

"Shall you require anything?"

"Oh, yes sir," said Ponder, excited. "Due to the travel through the rift, whatever arrived might need to stabilize its levels of magic that might have been-"

"Very well, _Mr Stibbons_." He gave him A Look. "Farewell, gentlemen. Lead the way, Rincewind."

Rincewind nodded glumly and, with a last glance at the Faculty, he headed to the door, following behind the Patrician and his clerk. The Faculty watched them leave in an awkward silence. Then the Dean clapped his hands.

"Breakfast time!"

* * *

It was odd, Fiona thought, how she couldn't take a shower because there was no water or how there was no electricity. There was an awful lot of noise in the street, too, but she believed it to be some sort of ridiculous parade or festival. Still, curiosity hit her like a hammer on the head and, since she didn't _own_ a cat, it shouldn't be any trouble. Slowly, Fiona opened the curtains of her room. Her eyes widened.

* * *

Vimes sighed in relief at the sight of the Patrician's black carriage. He sent two men for him. The throng opened a narrow path for their tyrant to pass. Several things happened to enable Lord Vetinari and his clerk a safe passage (2), most of them hindering Rincewind's. He tried to run after the Patrician, but it was of no use. When he finally made his way to his lordship, Rincewind was as shabby as if he had been trodden on by a herd of berserk animals.

Lord Vetinari and Commander, absorbed as they were in an argument, didn't even notice Rincewind's presence, though that was nothing out of the ordinary. When not trying to kill him, the universe in general ignored Rincewind.

"Ah, Rincewind. There you are."

Rincewind glanced around, suspicious, his eyes lingering no more than two seconds on the house before him, and marched towards the two men in what he expected to be a well-mannered pace. He was wrong, for he resembled a puppet ready to fall to pieces at any moment. He saw Vimes raising an eyebrow at his direction and gulped.

"Good morning, Commander," he greeted in a frail voice.

Vimes said nothing to him and turned his head. Rincewind wasn't surprised; he was used to this sort of behaviour. It wasn't like it was something _new_, or anything.

"Captain Carrot spoke to a couple of people," said Vimes. "Up until now everything they told him has to do with walking bushes, but I swear I saw-"

Vetinari appeared to be bemused. "Bushes?"

"Yes." Vimes glanced at the house for a moment. "Several people have already volunteered to give some gardening tips to whoever goes into that..." He frowned. "What _is _that?"

"A house," Rincewind said hurriedly. "Hex has been watching Roundworld's architecture for a while, and we have some reports that sustain this concept. It's definitely a house." He considered the building for a second. "Or a brothel. (3)"

There was a pause.

* * *

In the half light, one could hear someone searching through the dark. Said person bumped into what could be called a bed-side table, that is, if your idea of a bed-side table includes an almost legless wooden box with the shape of a small, scared elephant.

A small sigh echoed and, seconds later, someone lit up a candle.

Fiona sneezed. She hadn't come into that blasted attic for some good long years. Alright, maybe _bad_ years, but the last time she did, she had twisted her ankle by stumbling over the carpet and had fallen on the damn stairs. Yes, she did hold a grudge against old, dusty smelling attics, but in her mind, no self-respectable person would put a bear-headed carpet in such a dimly lit place. It was just ludicrous.

With caution, Fiona headed towards the small window in front of her, walking over any obstacles that came up. Luck, she thought, was on her side. At least, she did not break a limb. Or two, for that matter.

She took a deep breath, inhaling century old bits of dust. Coughing, Fiona drew the curtain sideways, widening her eyes.

_«Hang on, this can't be happening! »_

Minutes before, back in her bedroom, she had dressed in a hurry, knocking a couple of things down, due to the lack of light. All the curtains had been drawn and every door and window had been firmly shut. There was still no electricity nor water, much to Fiona's dismay. _Someone was going to pay_. It struck her that, after pinching her arms, face and legs, this was no dream. People don't usually feel their dreams so real it hurt, but they usually feel light, even if they go through their own fears and grievances. Occasionally they feel heavy, but that was not the point. If all that hullabaloo and chaos outside were real, then she was somewhere else that was also real, and Fiona was fairly sure that _that_ was not a medieval parade, or the next door children demanding candy during Halloween. It was_ not _Halloween, for God's sake! It was the middle of the summer!

Fiona shrieked. It was a small shriek, gifted with its very own unnatural melody, capable of giving a headache to anyone within a fifty meter range. It was the kind of shriek people use when they feel that something is _not_ right, but that there is probably nothing they can do about it. There was no knowing what would happen if, somebody, somehow, entered the house and forced her to go _somewhere_ that, in her imagination, resembled the Spanish Inquisition headquarters and involved an iron maiden.

_If_ something was indeed happening, the best thing to do was accept it, so that later she could panic decently. Yes, you shouldn't rush things, or they'll blow up in your face. Fiona _knew_ she had to calm down. She also knew that would happen... _eventually_. But she would, there was no doubt about that.

With an unsteady hand, Fiona removed a lock of hair from her face and sat on the dusty floor. There had to be something she could do, _anything_ at all would serve her cause. Her grandfather's face appeared out of nowhere in her mind, and suddenly she got up, a wicked grin on her face. She _knew _where he kept his gun.

* * *

"Rincewind?"

Feeling miserable, Rincewind followed the Patrician to the house. Whatever dwelled there, human or not, worried him, and he was _bloody sure_ it would represent a danger to him, sooner or later. It usually came sooner than he expected, but later than he wanted it to come. The wheel of fortune had lost a few spokes where he was concerned.

Rincewind gazed at the first floor window, thinking briefly whether or not he had had the glimpse of a, lacking a better word, brown walking bush. It should be human, he reasoned, and if his knowledge of the human species was correct, that _was_ hair, unless it was some sort of hairy fellow. He gulped.

The house was rather nice, Rincewind thought, after reaching the front entrance where a rather eerie looking door faced him with its strange metal knob and little windows. He had the feeling a small sheet of blue paper stared at him. Rincewind sighed. There was, he noticed, something written on the paper.

_Shove off Jack, I've already fed your dog! _

Rincewind chuckled at something he didn't really understand. Perhaps it was the slightly messy handwriting, or _maybe_ it was the two underscores and apostrophe that should mean something, though he didn't have the faintest idea. Instantaneously, he frowned. It _could_ mean something he didn't want to know, but would, much to his panic. There was no telling about these things.

Out of nowhere, the Luggage appeared strolling behind him, like an obedient pet or, at least, a homicidal one. It settled for trampling some ants in some sort of tap dance, earning a glare from Rincewind. He was used to this, after all. It had been years and years of misery.

Lord Vetinari took a step backwards, in a subtle gesture of demand, leaving Rincewind as the primary door confronter. He felt the throng fall silent at this, and it did not do any good to his nerves.

"Yes?"

Vetinari's word echoed in his mind. "Do take your time."

"Rincewind gulped.

"Hum. Right."

He knocked thrice.

* * *

Fiona came to a halt in the middle of the stairs. It was too silent.

_Knock_

She jumped.

_Knock_

She grabbed the banister in an attempt to prevent a nasty fall.

_Knock_

Fiona saw the gun fall down the stairs with a thump and thanked whichever made up deity crossing her mind in a moment like that, for not having loaded it.

She felt her legs tremble, but stood up and strolled for the gun. Bluffing was a very nice thing, in case no one suspected it. The only risk was people finding out said deceit and knocking you over with your own teapot. Besides, her grandmother had thrown away all the ammunition when she was little, reasoning that since there was no war going on, there was no need for such a dangerous artefact. After a lot of pointless arguments, she allowed her grandfather to keep the blasted thing and, in exchange, he would take his pills without fussing. It was, as Fiona would later say, an _excellent_ bargain.

Fiona heard voices outside. _Male_ voices, which narrowed it down to all the male population in that blasted... _place_. Somehow, it wasn't a soothing prospect. And she knew something had to be done. Fiona glanced at the door and, through the thin blue paper, noticed something... red. It had to have a shape, she hoped.

* * *

"I heard a noise, sir. It sounded like something falling."

Lord Vetinari nodded. "Let us expect no one got hurt. Nevertheless, we will give the _individual_ one more chance." They waited a couple of minutes. "Knock again, if you will."

Rincewind knocked. No one answered.

"Sir, I don't think that-"

"Give it time, Rincewind."

"Whoever that is, it appears to be in shock, sir."

Lord Vetinari took a step closer to the door.

THUMP

Rincewind jumped, panicked. "There's someone inside, sir."

"Obviously, if not for the bushes."

Rincewind leaned his ear against the door. There was silence.

_«Shit!»_

* * *

"_Shit!"_

Fiona winced, holding her foot. She had stumbled over a small table, knocking over a lamp. There goes subtle, a voice leered in her head. It was probably her conscience; she had always been keen on the theory that having one was a bugger. Now, it came to reclaim the profits. Either way, Fiona had never been someone capable of things like being subtle on the long run.

With effort, she got up and glanced around the living room. There were two men talking, she could hear them! The rest of the world, though, seemed to have fallen silent a while ago, but she damn well knew they were still outside.

With her foot still sore, Fiona headed to the door and took a deep breath. It was now, or later.

"Who are you, people?"

* * *

Rincewind jumped. That voice could only belong...

"...to a woman." Lord Vetinari whispered. With a short nod at Vimes, he turned and raised his voice. "Good morning, Miss. My name is Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of the twin city of Ankh-Morpork, and this gentleman next to me is Rincewind, who is a wizard." He paused. "May I ask who we speak with?"

There was a longer pause, giving birth to an awkward silence, only to be broken by what seemed to be heavy breaths. Vetinari raised an eyebrow while Rincewind toyed with his fingers. Of all the possible people and creatures in Roundworld, some _woman_ had to be blasted into Ankh Morpork. Not that Rincewind had anything against women, oh no, he got along fine with them. The problem was that they usually made people get thrust in deeper problems than they already were, and by people he meant _himself._

"Is everything alright?" asked Rincewind, in what he reckoned to be a considerate tone. If Vetinari had glanced at him, he would have seen Rincewind wiping sweat off his face and directing a gawk of moderate panic towards the door. All in all, he _was_ afraid of who dwelled in the house, female or not, because you could never predict what a homicidal maniac would look like. There were at least an eighty per cent chance that something dreadful was going to happen to him within the hour.

"_Fiona. Fiona Mitchell."_

Rincewind wondered if the woman spoke some sort of strange Roundworldian language, but then he reasoned that was most likely to be her own name. Or some sort of spice, but he would have to ask the Librarian about that later.

"Miss Mitchell," said Vetinari, solemn. "As you might have concluded, we have a delicate situation on our hands-"

"_Is that so?" _Something resembling a snarl went through Rincewind's ears and hit his brain like a hammer. He shuddered.

Vetinari ignored her comment. "...which demands both parts to cooperate, in order to amend whichever inconveniences that have risen." Rincewind thought he had heard a growl. A _creepy_ growl. "Therefore, I ask you to open the door, so we can discuss the matter face to face."

Rincewind gulped and waited for an answer, impatient.

"_That's all very nice, but what the hell happened? My clock says it's the middle of the night, but as far as I know the sun is an _unmistakable_ proof it's _daylight_! And when I go to the window, there's a crowd at my door, dressed like it's the eighteenth century! This is worse than a carnival!"_

"What?"

"_Oh, forget it." _the stranger snapped. _"Who are you, again?"_

"Rincewind, Miss."

"_Ah." _she acknowledged. _"If I open the door, what guarantees do I have that nothing will happen to me?" _

"Absolutely none," said Vetinari in a jolly voice, amused with the situation. "But it's the only chance we give you."

Rincewind glanced anywhere but at the door or the Patrician. There was no knowing what she would say, but he hoped, for his sake, that she would answer quickly. Seconds later, he thought he heard something being dropped onto the floor and a door being unlocked. He glanced around, looking for said door. Then, it struck him. Oh, _that _door.

Slow, but steadily, the door opened. Rincewind could hear horses approaching.

* * *

When Fiona heard the word wizard, her remaining sanity wanted nothing more than to jump out of the window and head to the nearest sanatorium but her curiosity was stronger than caution. After all, caution had led her to lose a spectacular job at the British Museum, so what did she have to lose?

By the time the door stood completely open and Fiona stared at the two men before her with a frown, she couldn't help but to notice a small detail. As far as she knew from her life experience, trunks didn't _have_ feet. It was unnatural and most of all, _terrifying_.

Fiona screamed. She screamed so loud several seagulls flying over the Ankh died from a heart attack and fell into the river, though that was nothing compared with the panic Rincewind felt as he backed away from her, saying things like _'loony'_ and _'crazy woman on the loose!' _Vetinari's amused demeanour changed when he saw Fiona re-entering the house and pointing a strange pipe at him. All of a sudden, the throng didn't seem so quiet after all.

"What the hell is _that_?" she screamed, pointing at the Luggage with her head. It was eyeing Fiona, if that's the term, outraged. Rincewind suddenly went very pale.

"Th- the Luggage," he slurred. "A homici-"

"What Rincewind means," said Vetinari, giving Fiona the Look. "Is that the Luggage was magically conceived out of sapient-pear wood, a very rare tree with a mind of its own. It only obeys its master," - he eyed Rincewind dubiously - "and attacks anyone it considers a menace to him. Thus I advise you Miss, to lower down your... seemingly menacing device, unless you want to get seriously injured."

Fiona considered the situation for a few moments. She raised her eyebrows. Apparently, the black haired man didn't recognize that what she held in her hands was a gun, but the other man seemed to be scared stiff. Maybe he had a sixth sense to identify danger. Fiona thought about her options. She could continue her façade, but sooner or later it was probable she would end up in a great mess. Perhaps these people weren't so _medieval_ after all, or at least, she thought they weren't until her gaze rested on a small... well, she didn't recognize his species, but he appeared to be covered in layers of the utmost dirt. On the other hand, if she cooperated, maybe there was a chance for her to go back home and forget all this had just happened. The latter seemed a more reasonable option.

Fiona lowered the gun. "Alright," she said slowly, glancing at the wizard's hat. He appeared not to know to spell and also, she observed, had run away and been caught by a taller, ginger haired man. This was getting out of hand, she thought. And ridiculous too. It was time for a _nicer_ approach.

She glanced at the black haired man that had introduced himself as the... Patrician? He was smiling.

"See?" he said, in a serene voice. "There is no need for such foul fiend business."

Fiona glanced at the Luggage. It was staring right back at her, she noticed with horror. She hadn't expected it _could_ stare. Looking down at its feet, Fiona felt a shiver running the marathon through her spine.

"You are a Patrician, right?"

"_The_ Patrician of Ankh-Morpork," he corrected.

"And the scruffy looking man with a hat, who doesn't know how to spell, is named Rincewind _and_ he's a wizard?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"The remaining question is... why am I here?"

She waited for an answer. It had been bugging her, of course, ever since she realized home was no longer in the same place, or even in the same world. It all seemed so out of touch and unreal it was becoming hard for her to cope. And where was this Ankh-Morpork? Wizards, Patricians, deranged travel accessories... what else could they throw at her?

"Alas, that is something only Mr Stibbons can answer."

"Oh." Fiona hesitated. "And pray tell, who is that person? Some other surreal character with hidden super powers and a knack for making jam sandwiches?"

"Not at all." Vetinari smiled.

There was a small Talk, though not the sort one makes during social gatherings and other mind-numbing events. It was the sort of Talk you only have once in your life and, for most people, it doesn't make any sense. It never will. But here, oh yes, in the Discworld it's the sort of Talk that makes your head feel like in a rollercoaster, especially if you're from another dimension. The Talk took as long as a wizard can handle without a smoke, earning Vetinari some glares, insults and awe expressions. Fiona was feeling much calmer, mostly due to the fact that the creepy thing with legs had vanished from her sight. Later, she would learn that that was not necessarily a good thing, if it was good at all, but at that moment, she was concentrating more on understanding what Lord Vetinari was saying. The crowd was very interested in her, she noticed. Some people were screaming her name. She wondered how they knew it, but reasoned the wizard must've had something to do with it. Not that she'd blame him; the man looked unable to discern what to do next.

Fiona was in a carriage. She was sure of it, for the noise of the horse's hooves on the stone floor deceived no one. The last time she had been aware of her actions, she had been talking to the Patrician, while at that moment, she was sitting next to a slender figure with red robes. Fiona glanced at Rincewind from the corner of her eye and saw his mouth twitch. So, now he was afraid of her. Ah-_ha_.

Fiona remembered vaguely being convinced to go to some sort of Invisible University, which was _unseen_? She just didn't know by whom, and felt the need to slap herself for such thoughtlessness. Well, not only did she feel like doing it, she did it and it hurt more than a simple pinch. The wizard stared at her, flabbergasted, but stayed quiet.

Fiona tried to remember who had somehow _coerced _her in such a subtle way to go to the blasted University. In front of her was the Patrician. She stared at him. He smiled.

Oh, it was _him._

* * *

1)During a poker game between shops, both had had a heated discussion on the best way of removing a curry stain from a silk blouse. One thing had led to another, and after an amount of beating a hay-stack, they decided never to speak to each other again.

2)Including kicking, screaming, lots of shoving and pushing.

3) Fiona's family had bought the house so many decades ago, they had lost track of everything it was used for. It did, however, include a brothel.

* * *

_A/N: I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed. You always make me smile._

_A round of applause for Virtuella, the best Beta-Reader that has ever existed :)_

_Here it is, Bindi, the chapter you've been waiting for! _


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"Archchancellor, sir!"

Ridcully interrupted his argument with the Dean about the best way to give the Bursar his Dried Frog Pills and stared at the student, surprised to see one of the little buggers panting so hard.

"Yes?"

The student drew a deep breath; running up the stairs all the way to the HEM building wasn't an easy task, especially if you have just smoked almost two boxes of cigars.

"A woman has entered the University!"

Ridcully frowned.

"What's so strange about it?"

"_A woman, he said?"_

"_Yes, a woman, Chair."_

"_I was rather expecting a plant of some sort, or maybe a dog, but _not_ a woman."_

With a shaking finger, the student pointed at the door.

"The Patrician and - - Professor Rincewind - - they're coming over here!"

Ridcully sighed in relief.

"_Why would they bother bringing in a plant?"_

"_Buggered if I know."_

"_Then why-"_

"_Shut up, will you?" _Ridcully shouted at the Faculty. He turned to the student. "They're coming in with the woman, I reckon?"

"Yes!"

"Jolly good. Now, where's Stibbons?"

* * *

Fiona walked between the Patrician and Rincewind. She made an enormous effort not to look at the crowd of men with pointy hats. They came in all sizes, she had noticed a few moments after entering the University's hall. Some resembled small mountains, others had the muscular structure of a toothbrush, but _all_ of them had hats. There was no exception. And the few that didn't have them by the time of her entrance hastily put them on.

There seemed to be a clear lack of females, though. Everywhere Fiona could possibly look at, men were around her. It was rather disturbing.

Fiona poked the Patrician on the ribs and received a Look. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow.

"Why aren't there any women at sight?" she whispered.

"Women aren't allowed to enter the University, due to strict guidelines. The wizards feel that members of the female persuasion are utmost distracting, thus they banned them from university grounds," Vetinari replied in his usual quiet tone. "This is only one half of the reason."

"What's the other half?"

Vetinari said no more. Fiona considered she shouldn't push the subject.

There were whispers, she could hear them. Sniggers on her left, low voices on her right made her shiver. After the initial anger and adrenaline, Fiona was feeling frightened. She glanced at the scrawny wizard on her right: she could see he was very tense, almost as if he was bottling up all the panic inside to burst out later. She couldn't blame him; probably that was what she was going to do when she found herself alone again. If it wasn't for solemn environment, she would have asked Rincewind if he needed anything or even if he was alright. The poor man seemed so uptight it was pitiful.

Fiona wasn't very sure where they were going: back in the Patrician's carriage, the ruler had talked about it briefly, but fear had been already kicking in and she had felt too nervous to understand what his lordship was trying to tell her. If she could turn back time, she would have listened more carefully to the Patrician's words. She was aware of a ghost-like man following behind them, some sort of clerk, black clad with glasses, carrying a clipboard. The man had introduced himself shortly after they had alighted from the carriage.

Stairs, stairs and _more_ stairs. It seemed the Unseen University owned quite a lot of them. When they came to a halt, Fiona sighed in relief. She could see a door, and wondered what lurked behind it. Perhaps more wizards? The individual called Mr Stibbons the Patrician had mentioned before?

"Excuse me."

Fiona jumped. The clerk, Drumknott, was waiting patiently for something.

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry."

Fiona blushed slightly and drifted sideways. The clerk nodded and opened the door.

They entered.

* * *

At the Watch House, Samuel Vimes sighed. The day wasn't going well at all. He glanced out of the window; he liked to keep it open even in cold weather. But it wasn't cold, oh no, it was so bloody hot outside now he could feel his eye sockets melting.

Leaning back on his chair, Vimes closed his eyes and listened to the usual noises in the streets of Ankh-Morpork. After the commotion in the morning, he felt he needed a few seconds to rest his eyes.

Make that ten minutes.

There was a knock at the door. This knock, unlike others, had a lot to say for itself. It had harmonics, for instance. The person knocking had been called into Vimes' office more times than the Commander would've liked during his lifetime, which granted him an idea of the person's M.O. , or in this case, M.K. (Modus Knocking).

Startled, Vimes jumped on his seat. He groaned in frustration.

"Come in."

Nobby appeared in the doorway.

"You called, sir?"

Vimes raised an eyebrow.

"No."

"Oh."

Vimes felt a sudden urge to smoke a cigar.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Er... was it really a walking bush that came out of that house, sir?"

Vimes sighed. Back in Phedre Road, some bloke had started a rumour about walking bushes and he had spent most of the morning preventing people from entering the strange house and listening to their modern gardening tips. Captain Carrot had convinced him to rest for a while and then come back for the night to patrol: young Sam had been going through his 'Mine Phase', which involved lots of screaming and few hours for Vimes and Sybil to sleep properly.

Vimes glanced at the cigar Nobby had carefully placed behind his ear and made a mental note never to leave young Sam within fifty feet of him on a hot day. Little drops of sweat ran from his scalp to the back of the -

"No, Nobby." Vimes replied, wearily. "It was a woman. There are numerous differences which I won't even bother to explain."

"But Mr Dibbler said -"

"Did you end up buying any sausages inna bun?"

Nobby shifted uncomfortably.

"You never know what secrets one of Mister Dibbler's sausages might contain, sir," he shrugged, allowing more drops of sweat fall onto his collarbone. All of a sudden, he brightened up. "Fancy it's a female bush, huh, sir?"

Vimes groaned and buried his face on his hands.

* * *

Fiona was amazed.

She was inside a room with strange gadgets of all sorts that went '_click_' and '_tap'_ every few seconds, where young and not so young looking wizards ran in every possible direction to get hold of some flying papers and screamed things like _'No! It's still highly unstable!'_ and _'Let go of my sock!'_.

She noticed a very large hole in one of the walls that showed a beautiful landscape of what she reckoned to be the city of Ankh-Morpork and a small individual being dragged away from said hole by two larger men.

"Miss Mitchell?"

Fiona turned around. A black haired man with glasses stared at her, nervously.

"Hello," she said.

"Good morning, er, afternoon." The man offered her his hand. "My name is Ponder Stibbons."

Fiona stared at his hand for a second and, after a small hesitation, gingerly took it.

"I'd introduce myself, but it seems you already know who I am." She managed a smile.

"Oh yes!" he exclaimed, with a glint in his eye. "His lordship and Professor Rincewind told us about you while you were so absorbed in examining the surroundings."

Fiona looked puzzled.

"Us...?"

A group of older wizards waved at her from where the Patrician and Rincewind stood. Now aware of her presence, the rest of the younger wizards observed her curiously, some peeking from behind the machinery, others trying to conceal themselves behind larger wizards. She heard a couple of sniggers from behind her and glared at three wizards. Instantly, they fell quiet.

"If you could just follow me..."

Ponder lead her to the group of older wizards. She tried to conceal her right hand, which was shaking slightly, from their sight.

"This," Ponder pointed at one of the wizards. "Is the Senior Wrangler."

One of the wizards bowed to her.

"Welcome, Miss," he said.

"The Chair of Indefinite Studies, the Lecturer in Recent Runes." The wizards waved at Fiona. She, however, only managed a strange smile. "And..."

"_Mustrum, he's done it again!"_

"_Oh, really?"_

"_Yes!"_

"_Come here you -"_

"_Is he flying?"_

"_Careful with the chandelier!"_

Stibbons glanced around the room. "The Dean and the Archchancellor over there, dragging the Bursar."

Fiona heard a high-pitched cheer coming from the smallest wizard, who was trying to grab the chandelier above him. She turned to Ponder.

"Mr Stibbons? What exactly..."

"Are they doing? Oh, do not worry. The Bursar is, well, _technically_ insane, so we have to take all kinds of safety measures when he's around and, of course, give him his Dried Frog Pills. But don't worry!" Ponder repeated, when he saw the fear mirrored in her face. "He's not dangerous."

"Oh no," said the Chair.

"Not at all." Senior Wrangler waved a hand dismissively. "Though you can never let him get near wooden objects..."

"And spoons," said Runes.

"Or any sort of non-spherical vegetable, for that matter," stated the Chair.

"Yes, but do pineapples really count?"

"As far as I know, vegetables do not _include_ pineapples, Runes."

"Of course _you_ would know everything about that, wouldn't you, Chair?"

"It's called common sense!"

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is!"

"It's called -"

"_Please_, gentlemen."

The Faculty turned to Lord Vetinari.

"Let us leave this argument for another time. Right now, this lady," he pointed at Fiona, "needs our help. But perhaps it would be wise to give the Archchancellor a hand, first?"

The wizards nodded and hurried to where the Archchancellor struggled with the Dean to keep the Bursar from breaking his neck and, after a while, the five wizards succeeded. With a half-flying, half-dozing Bursar, they marched towards Fiona and the rest.

"Now," said Ridcully, wearily. "Where's this young lady Runes told me about?"

"Behind Ponder Stibbons, sir."

"Don't be silly, Rincewind, that's Mr Drummernot."

"Drumknott, sir."

"Yes, yes." Ridcully searched the room for Fiona. "Oh, there you are!"

If one goes through what Fiona has, then one is bound to be nervous at some point. For Fiona, watching those men trying to 'convince' the insane Bursar would be amusing in another situation, but since the universe works in undecipherable rules, she was growing increasingly nervous. Being exposed as a curious thing was also not doing any good to her nerves, so Fiona decided to take one or two steps backwards and conceal most of herself behind Ponder Stibbons' black robes. He was taller than she was. That would certainly come in handy, and it did, for a while. No one noticed her slipping behind the black-clad wizard, except for Lord Vetinari and Rincewind. Unknown to Fiona was that Rincewind had been observing all her movements from the corner of his eye.

"You can come out from behind Stibbons' back, my dear. No one's going to hurt you."

"I seriously doubt that," Fiona mumbled.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

As silently as she could, Fiona took a few steps towards the Archchancellor.

"My name is Mustrum Ricudly and I'm Archchancellor of Unseen University, " he said. "It means I'm in charge of this damn place."

"That's fairly obvious, Mustrum."

"And the old bloke over there is the Dean."

The Dean was the least likeable Faculty member for Fiona. While the others tried to be at least civilized in their own way, the Dean tried to be as unfriendly as he could in _his_ own way.

She ventured a small smile, which he did not return.

The following half hour included nothing but a conversation much like the one the Patrician had with Fiona before their departure, only this time it was more detailed. After being informed about the difference between their worlds, how the wizards had created it and the rift that had been opened, Fiona felt weak. Not in a million years would she have imagined such things. It was not as if she did not have any imagination, it was the fact that all her life she had learned that this sort of thing was not only impossible but physically wrong. Messing with dimensions could only cause trouble and these things never happened in real life. That was what fairy tales were for: They allowed people to imagine things that could not happen in the hope that, deep inside, they would. Nevertheless, it was a well-known fact that they would not. It was just... _not_ natural.

And yet, there she was, wide awake, living what others sought in their dreams. Why?

"But why me?" she cried. "Why not anyone else on my damn planet?"

"Stibbons?"

"Yes, Archchanceller, sir." Ponder was so nervous cleaning his glasses that he nearly let them fall on the floor. "Well, considering your thaumaturgical reading, weight and -" He stopped abruptly when he saw she was not understanding. Ponder took a deep breath. "According to magic laws, you can't just make something appear out of nowhere. You need another object, for example, in order for them to switch."

"Wait." Fiona frowned. "Are you saying that _something_ else switched with me? _Something_ else took my place?"

"Not _something_. In fact, we know fairly well _who_ switched places with you, Miss."

"Oh God, no. This is _not_ happening..."

"Actually it is," replied Ponder. "You know, Miss, when you appeared here, you did not come alone. Your house came along with you. That means that in Phedre Road, which is the street where you appeared, something other with the same weight and similar characteristics was blasted into Roundworld."

"Roundworld?"

"It's what we call your Earth. Because it's round, you see," said Rincewind helpfully.

After a few moments of silence, Fiona managed to get a grip. "So, what do I do now? How do I get back?"

"Well..." mumbled Ponder. "We're still not sure. We must, however, perform a few tests to verify if you have been infected with magic."

"Alright." Fiona glanced at the other wizards. "What's the first test?"

"Turnipseed," Ponder nodded to a student. "Please bring me the first device."

When Adrian Turnipseed returned, he brought along a very strange gadget. It was something between the lines of a metal detector and a goose.

"What is that for?"

"We need to read your thaumatergical energy. You won't feel a thing, don't worry. If you could just step here..."

Fiona took a few steps towards Ponder, who, she noticed, had become a little uncomfortable. A little _too_ much uncomfortable with the closeness, leading to a number of sniggers from the students.

"What are you laughing at?"

They fell silent once more.

As Fiona observed the disturbing gadget, she had a strange thought. What if...? Fiona glanced around.

"Is this anything like a medical exam? 'Cause if it is, I'm warning you now but I won't take off my clothes."

If there had been any parallel conversations between the wizards, then they had ceased immediately. A silence as strong as a mighty storm lingered in the HEM building, whilst no one dared to make a move. The wizards stood, eyes wide open. Some of them, in fact, let their imagination run wild and were picturing very inappropriate things, which caused most of them to blush and, later, cough loudly. That did break the awkward silence.

"Hum, well, let's continue." Ponder was fidgeting with his robe when he noticed the look on Fiona's face. "Though I assure you nothing of the sort will be required."

Fiona smiled.

* * *

Hours later, a very tired Fiona Mitchell sat in front of the Patrician in the Oblong office. She had been required to go through many tests, as Ponder Stibbons called them, and in the end she felt the need to rest. After all, she had slept at most three hours and this was all too much for one day. When she had expressed her tiredness to the wizards, their faces had turned an ugly blotchy red and they had asked for a couple of minutes to discuss the matter. Stibbons had told her she couldn't go back to her house until they had run the same tests they had on her, in order to prevent a magical flare. This worried her. Where would she stay? At the University?

After a long discussion, Lord Vetinari announced she would go back to the Palace with him and then they would discuss her accommodation.

So there she was, glancing around the Office while the Patrician stared at her, with obvious interest. His fingers drummed softly on his desk.

"Ah, Miss Mitchell."

Fiona looked at him.

"Yes?" She thought about the best way to address the Patrician and how people talked to him. Respect. Yes, people seemed to respect him. So, she hastily added: "Sir?"

"It seems today has been a very busy day."

Fiona stayed silent.

"The Archchancellor and I have reached a consensus." The drumming stopped. "Until further notice, you shall stay here in the Palace. You will not_ leave_ these grounds unless you are allowed, you will not _speak_ to anyone outside these walls until we decide it is safe and, most important, you will not go _anywhere_ without a guard."

Fiona's jaw dropped.

"When did _I_ agree with that?"

The Patrician gave her yet another Look. It felt familiar by now.

"Do you not value your own safety, Miss Mitchell?" he said sternly.

"Yes, but -"

"You must understand this: the people of Ankh-Morpork, like any other people enjoy shows, Miss Mitchell, and as of today and until you are no longer considered the first page of the Ankh-Morpork Times, _you_ are their show."

"It can't be _that_ bad -"

"Every single Guild Master asked for a meeting to examine your... situation. The _people_ of Ankh-Morpork are lining before the Palace's gate as we speak with the single purpose to _see_ you."

Fiona fidgeted with her fingers.

"That means I cannot leave?"

The Patrician leaned back.

"Understand that while you reside in Ankh-Morpork, you are my subject and, as my accidental subject, the Archchancellor and I have reached the conclusion that while you do not return home, we must protect you."

Fiona felt touched. She smiled.

"Thanks. I hope I'm not too much trouble."

Lord Vetinari said nothing.

"However, will I _ever_ leave the Palace?"

"Once the impact of your arrival wears off, certainly. You may walk freely through the streets, with a guard, of course."

There was silence again. It was important for Lord Vetinari that she returned home and the other family came back to Ankh-Morpork. He had been expecting the salesman for a conversation in the next few days, regarding a break attempt in the Royal Mint. Vimes had been adamant in not letting him escape, but maybe this switch had been a good surprise. One less problem threatening the city.

It did, however, leave another with as much importance to be dealt with.

It was probably of great importance, although it did benefit the city and Lord Vetinari had long since decided he wanted to keep an eye on her.

"I'm staying here, then?"

"Yes."

Fiona frowned.

"Alright, but I need some clothes."

A small smile touched Vetinari's lips.

"Capital. I have ordered Mister Stibbons to sending a team of wizards and retrieve some of your possessions."

Fiona scratched the back of her head.

"Oh."

Someone, who Fiona recognized as Drumknott coughed. She hadn't noticed the clerk standing in the shadows. Startled, she jumped on her chair.

"They should be here after nightfall. Drumknott?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Please show Miss Mitchell her new lodgings. Do not let me detain you."

She chuckled. Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

"Such a polite way of throwing people out," she said, smiling. "Once again, thank you, sir. I shall not let you detain me."

Fiona rose from her seat and followed Drumknott, who had already opened the door for her. When the door was firmly shut, Lord Vetinari leaned back on his chair. He stared at the ceiling for a while.

Then he closed his eyes and chuckled.

* * *

It was a nice room. Very old-fashioned, but still beautiful. There was a fire already roaring in the fireplace as she stepped in, a bed with clean sheets, a closet and all the usual furniture rooms include. On top of a small table was a basket with fruit. Fiona wondered if there were any peaches.

"Here you are, Miss." Drumknott nodded. "Dinner shall be served at eight."

"I think I'll pass. I'm not very hungry," she mumbled.

"Very well, Miss. Excuse me."

Drumknott stepped out of the room silently, leaving Fiona with her thoughts. It wasn't easy; this situation was consuming her on the inside and she was tired of looking strong when all she wanted was to let down all of her defences and cry like a little girl. She had panicked, she had been nervous and she had been angry. The only emotion left overcame her quickly. There was no one around...

A trail of tears ran down Fiona's face. With small steps, she headed towards the bed and sat on the edge, burying her soaked face on her hands. Trembling, she wept until she could weep no more.

* * *

Rincewind burst into the library.

"Where were you?" he snapped.

"Oook!" the Librarian huffed in indignation.

"It was an ordeal! And you were supposed to be there!"

"Ook."

"No, I don't think so."

"Ook?"

"Well, yes but -"

"Ook."

"Oh, alright, sorry. But I am _not_ overreacting!"

Rincewind and the Librarian barged into conversation about the strange bushy haired woman.

"The Patrician wants me to go and talk to him tomorrow."

"Ook?"

"Not sure either. I'm sure it will be something bad, though."

"Ook."

Rincewind gave this a thought. If the Librarian was right, then the Patrician would want to ask him to do something and he would have no chance to refuse.

Rincewind shook his head.

"Ook?"

"What do you mean, 'what does she look like'? Didn't you see her?"

"Ook." The Librarian uttered, sadly.

"Oh, I'll leave you to that, then." Rincewind screwed up his face in thought. "Well, she's a woman, first of all, and women have certain features that - oh, you don't mean that sort of thing, do you? Alright, she was dressed in those strange Roundworldian clothes. No, not that sort. That was during the - _I know! _Like I was saying, strange clothes and bushy brown hair. Stibbons told us it had something to do with the high magic levels surrounding her. They'll wear off in a couple of days. Anyway, she has average height, brown eyes and... there's nothing more to her. Oh, and she didn't tell us her age. Or where she was from. I think she was getting too nervous with Stibbons' questions."

"Ook?"

"Well, I can't blame her, after the Archchancellor gave Stibbons permission to ask whichever questions he wanted, Stibbons exceeded himself. Lord Vetinari had to step in and everything. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

"Ook!"

Rincewind sighed. It really had been a _long _day. All he wanted was to get a good night sleep and eat some spuds, but the world had found a way to sabotage his wishes once more.

"Alright, I'll help you with those books..."

* * *

It was night time in Ankh-Morpork. It had been long since the cold moon appeared in the sky and the remaining people lurking in Phedre Street returned home to their families.

Inside her room in the Palace, Fiona sat on a pillowed chair, facing the roaring fire. Her eyes were red and puffy; her face showed a trail of tears but her spirit was at ease, now. After crying until there were no tears left, Fiona felt as if nothing could hurt her anymore. It is usual for people to feel like this once they weep for hours; it is almost as if the world does not want to harm us no longer and it is then that we feel relieved.

Fiona sat on the pillowed chair with her head bowed, and her hands folded over a piece of fruit. She might have been praying, or else silently counting the minutes. Her eyes seemed to burn in the firelight.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Come in," she said, in a raspy, barely audible voice.

The door creaked slowly, as a young woman appeared on the doorway, carrying a suitcase.

"Excuse me, Miss," the woman said.

Fiona turned her head towards the maid.

"Mister Ponder Stibbons just sent this for you."

Slowly, Fiona stood up and motioned to the suitcase.

"Thank you," she said, kindly taking it out of the maid's hands.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

Fiona averted her eyes from the young woman and stared at her feet.

"No, not really," she mumbled. "But I hope I will be." With a deep breath, Fiona tried to take a grip. "But thank you for asking, Miss...?"

"Mildred Easy," the maid said with the smile of someone who doesn't know what to do, but will try anything so that the other person will feel better. "Do you wish me to bring you dinner leftovers, or perhaps some tomato soup -"

Fiona shook her head.

"No, thank you. I think I'll try to have some sleep." She paused. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight, Miss." Mildred Easy shifted uncomfortably. "Mister Stibbons apologized, said it took longer than he expected to test all the clothing, especially the underwear, no one wanted to... well, and then again, wizards are... well..." She gave a little grin.

"No problem. I'm glad they've arrived. Good night, Mildred Easy."

"Good night, Miss."

With a creak, the door was closed and Fiona was once again alone.

* * *

_A/N: A massive cheer for Virtuella for her amazing corrections :) Thank you so much!_

_Also, I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed and greet those who are reading this fic for the first time. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the previous ones. Hopefully, the fourth chapter will be completed before June due to excessive school work, but don't worry for it _**will **_be up_ _before you know it. I think. :D_

_YourEvilNemisisBwahaha: I can't believe that I lived to see the day in which an Evil Nemesis asks something nicely! I'm shocked. SHOCKED! O.O Now, where's that sequel you promised? :P Or I'll send my Legions of Doom to get you! And Constable Visit! Now that is some _**threat**_. _

_Regards,_

_DarkTari_


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